To Fall in Love
by mellifluous aria
Summary: Draco needs help with Muggle Studies and Hermione needs help with flying, which leads to an interesting agreement between the two Eighth years. "Albert Einstein once said that gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love. I beg to differ." A story about forgiving, bickering, and falling. In love, that is. Dramione, post-war Hogwarts.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"_Expelliarmus!"_

"_Avada kedavra!"_

Red light met green and the soulless one dropped to the cold ground.

Voldemort had finally fallen.

Afterwards, in the brilliant glow of the golden sun, the living cried and hugged and smiled, exalting the 'Chosen One' and their survival through the War. Later, the dead were mourned, buried, and memorialized, and glorious speeches were made to commemorate their bravery and their valiant efforts to stop the evil that was threatening to spread throughout the wizarding world.

Gradually, wizards and witches started repairing their homes and patching up their lives, and students were invited back to attend Hogwarts in the autumn, as the damage done to the castle wasn't particularly extensive. The three young heroes of the War, fondly called the 'Golden Trio', were part of these returning students, and were accompanied by some of their surviving schoolmates to make up the first, and hopefully the last, 'Eighth years'.

The War had hurt so many people, some irreparably, but its end was a chance for a fresh start, an opportunity to correct former mistakes and to, most importantly, forgive, and move on with life. It was a chance for redemption, new discoveries, and, interestingly enough, falling.

In love, that is.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter series or any of the characters portrayed in this story. (The disclaimer applies for the entire story.)


	2. Ch 1 - Old Grudges and Second Chances

**Chapter 1 - Old Grudges and Second Chances**

The Second Wizarding War had been over for precisely four months, twenty-three days, and ten hours.

Harry, Ron, and I had decided to take Professor McGonagall up on her offer to return as 'Eighth years' and finish up our schooling, as did many of our friends. Well, the ones that were still alive, that is.

I tried not to think about that fact too often, but memories of the war still haunted my mind while I tossed and turned at night, images of the dead, the grotesque corpses, and so much blood, bright red blood, everywhere, marring the details of my nightmares but magnifying the horror and the pain.

I wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep, though. Harry and Ron sometimes came to breakfast with dark circles under their eyes, as did many other students – Ginny, Seamus, Parvati, Padma, Dean, Ernie, Malfoy, and so on. Even Luna occasionally looked troubled and acted more absent-minded than usual.

On this particular Friday afternoon, I was sitting at a table in a tucked away corner of the library with a potions book, lots of parchment, and other miscellaneous supplies, busy, as I always was at Hogwarts, with schoolwork. The late afternoon sun glowed golden through the large window behind me, and I felt serene and completely at peace for the first time in a long while as I read and took notes.

_The properties of wormwood include..._

"Granger, I have a proposition for you."

_Huh?_

I looked up from my textbook, startled by the unexpected voice, then frowned at the sight of the blond disturbance standing in front of my table. What on earth was he doing here?

"Pardon me?" I asked, slightly perplexed.

He sighed and rolled his pale grey eyes in exaggerated annoyance.

"A bit slow today, aren't we, Granger?"

I glared at him and retorted, "Malfoy, I don't have time for your shenanigans today. I still have that four foot paper to write for Slughorn and I've only just started reading the chapter."

He snorted, then said dryly, "Granger, that paper's not due for another week. Do you honestly have nothing better to do than get ahead on homework?"

I bristled, then spat, "Sod off, Malfoy. At least I'm not a smarmy little ferret who –"

"Whatever, Granger. You can insult me at another time, but right now, I need your help with something."

_Malfoy needs help? Well, this should be interesting._

"Fine," I said, placing my quill back in its inkpot. "Continue."

"It's for Muggle Studies."

Ah, yes. In the few months between the time when Harry defeated Voldemort and the start of the new school year, the Ministry decreed that all students at Hogwarts, including the "Eighth years", were required to take at least one year of the newly revised Muggle Studies course in an effort to prevent another war from ensuing over blood prejudices. Some of the purebloods in the wizarding community, mainly the former Slytherins, grumbled a bit about the requirement, but Minister Shacklebolt was adamant about supporting blood equality.

I smirked, amused by the situation at hand.

"All right," I said, leaning back in my chair. "What kind of help do you need?"

He sighed heavily and dropped into the chair across from mine.

"I'd like for you to tutor me," he mumbled, staring sullenly at some spot just over my shoulder. "It seems that I know very little about the Muggle world, and it'd be rather embarrassing if I failed a class that even _Weasley_ can manage to pass."

"So why are you asking _me_ for help?" I asked bluntly, choosing to ignore his petty jab at Ron.

He frowned at me, then replied, "First of all, you're apparently the 'brightest witch of our age' and a Muggle to boot, so you obviously know enough about the Muggle world to help me pass the class." He paused, looking pensively at the bookcase to his left. Finally, he returned his gaze back to mine, then added, quietly, "Also, you actually talk to me, which, quite frankly, was essentially the deciding factor in my decision."

My defences dropped a smidge when he confessed this, as it was true that most of the non-Slytherins at school were blatantly snubbing him. Ron, especially, was rather rude to him on a near-daily basis and rarely missed a chance to call him a 'snot-nosed ferret' or something equally insulting. Harry, however, mostly just ignored him. To Malfoy's credit, he hadn't said anything this year about Voldemort or Mudbloods or Ron's hair, causing me to believe that he was at least attempting to move on from his and his family's mistakes, which was why I made a point to occasionally talk to him in classes.

"All right, Malfoy. Assuming that I have the time and willingness to help you, what would I get in return?"

The altruistic side of me was shaking her head in disappointment at my question, but the other part of me, who still slightly resented Malfoy's past treatment towards Harry, Ron, and me, was not exactly enthusiastic about helping him without compensation. Plus, it's not like Malfoy was _nice_ – working with him would most likely involve many insults and arguments.

His lips quirked into a faint smile and he leaned across the table and said, in a conspiratorial manner, "Well, Granger, I've heard from some reliable sources that you, the Muggleborn extraordinaire, are unable to fly on a broom."

My face flushed in embarrassment at this remark, although what he said was, unfortunately, true. Magical brooms and I had a severely antagonistic relationship, despite Harry and Ron's best efforts to teach me how to fly.

"And what exactly does that have to do with anything?" I snapped peevishly, crossing my arms.

"Well," he drawled with that infuriating smirk of his, "I _was_ the seeker for Slytherin, so I thought that, in exchange for your help in Muggle Studies, I could teach you how to fly on a broom without falling and smashing your enormous brain to pieces."

I raised an eyebrow. "Harry, Ron, and even Viktor have already tried to get me to stay on a broom for more than a few seconds, and they've all failed horribly. I sincerely doubt that _you_ could do any better."

He chuckled, apparently very amused by what I said. "Now, Granger, it's probably not wise to compare me to those buffoons. I am far more intelligent than any one of them could ever hope to be, and thus, I have confidence in my ability to teach you how to fly. I'm also more patient than Pothead and Weasel," he added as an afterthought.

I narrowed my eyes. "I wouldn't be insulting them if I were you, Malfoy," I warned. "I haven't actually agreed to help you, and making fun of my friends isn't very endearing."

He drew back, his eyes coolly appraising me. "Very well," he said after a short silence. "I... apologize for my comments."

_Wow. He must be getting desperate if I can get him to apologize for insulting Harry and Ron._

_Still, he might not have changed at all since before the War. What if he's still an insufferable, prejudiced git? Do I really want to work with someone who thinks of me as a Mudblood?_

I bit my lip, lost in thought.

_I don't think anyone has survived the War unchanged, though. And he hasn't been as big of an arse this year. I haven't heard him say 'Mudblood' even once..._

Finally deciding that it would do me good to give Malfoy a chance and help the professors advocate for inter-house unity, I said, "All right, Malfoy, it's a deal." I reached my arm across the table and we shook hands, sealing the agreement.

"How about we meet here Wednesdays after dinner, starting next week, for Muggle Studies?" he suggested.

I shrugged. "That sounds fine. Sunday afternoons work for me for the flying lessons." Sunday was also a good time to learn how to fly since most students would be doing their homework the day before lessons started for the week, and thus would not be likely to witness my sure-to-be atrocious attempts at flying.

He nodded, and smirked. "I'm rather looking forward to working with you, Granger."

I rolled my eyes. "As long as you're not a prat and can prevent me from falling too often, I'm sure we'll get along well enough."

"Of course," he said, simply. And with that, he got up and swept out of the library with a _swish_ of his expensive black robes.

* * *

Later that evening, I was eating dinner in the Great Hall along with the rest of the Hogwarts students, smiling at the lively chatter filling the room.

"Ron, would you mind passing the rolls?" I asked, eyeing the basket of bread that was just out of reach.

"Mmfh," he replied, his mouth full. I rolled my eyes at his still poor table manners. What is it with boys and food? Is it really necessary to inhale each meal as if it were their last?

After grabbing some bread, I asked, "So, how was practice?"

None of the Eighth years were allowed to play Quidditch for their houses, but they could participate in practices if they so wished. Obviously, Harry and Ron would take any chance to play and often ended up directing practices, much to Ginny's annoyance, as she was the captain for this year.

"Oh, it was fine. We practiced the Sloth Grip Roll for a bit, but some of the younger ones, especially that May girl, had a bit of trouble with it," replied Harry, eating in a slightly more dignified fashion than Ron.

Ginny, who was sitting to my right, huffed, then muttered something about reverse passes and "interfering with my bloody team".

I clucked my tongue in sympathy. "You two do realize that Ginny is Gryffindor's captain, right? Shouldn't she be the one running practices?"

Harry abruptly stopped chewing, blinked rapidly, then turned to Ginny with a sheepish expression. "Sorry, Gin," he said, his face turning a bit red. She attempted to look annoyed, but ended up giggling and pecked him on the cheek. The two of them had decided to give their relationship a proper go during the summer, and were honestly so adorable together. It made my heart warm to see the two of them smiling and happy so soon after the War.

"So, what did you do today, Hermione?" Ginny inquired.

I shrugged. "Nothing particularly exciting. I finished the potions essay and did some reading for a couple classes."

"Blimey, Hermione," said Ron, sounding rather appalled. "We haven't even been back a full month and you're already ahead on homework."

"That's because some people, Ronald, have time management skills. Besides, I want to be prepared for NEWTs in the spring. We've been given a wonderful opportunity to come back to Hogwarts, and I don't want to waste this chance to learn more about magic."

Ron just shook his head, and continued to shovel food into his mouth at an astonishing rate.

Oh, my dear, dear Ron. We had tried being in a relationship for part of the summer, but he was interested in Quidditch and pranks while I wanted to read and make up for the lessons I missed while on the run last school year, so we eventually decided to remain best friends rather than a couple.

Well, I insisted on us being friends, and he had no choice but to go along with what I was saying.

It wasn't just that I thought that we were a bit ill-suited for each other – I also didn't like Ron in that manner. Unlike Harry and Ginny, we didn't not date before the War to keep each other safe; we just hadn't wanted to date each other. Sure, I had a crush on him when I was younger, and some of those feelings came back near the end of the War, but now I felt that I had changed, and I just wasn't attracted to him in that way anymore. Thankfully, none of the Weasleys, except Molly, were much upset by the news, so I was still welcome to stay at the Burrow for the last weeks of vacation after living with my parents, whose memories I restored, in Australia for the first month and a half of break.

"... serves him right, the git."

I blinked, pulled away from my thoughts by Ron's voice.

Harry chuckled, emerald eyes full of mirth. "I wonder how he's faring in Muggle studies."

I narrowed my eyes. "Are you two talking about Malfoy?"

"Of course. I mean, look at him! I can't believe he was allowed to come back here without _any_ charges against him after everything that happened last year." Ron indignantly bit into a chicken leg, then continued. "At least old Lucius was sent to Azkaban, the foul wanker."

I tsked, then prodded Ron in the arm. "Ronald Weasley, didn't your mother ever tell you to be compassionate towards others?"

He rolled his eyes. "Come on, Hermione. Those Slytherins don't deserve any sympathy, not after they killed Fr – ". He hastily gulped down some pumpkin juice as I looked at him sadly. Oh, Ron.

After a short silence, he spoke up again. "Anyway, I'm glad that he's being forced to take Muggle studies. I swear, if that blasted ferret calls you a 'Mudblood' again, I'll knock his teeth out."

My lips quirked into a small smile at the fierce expression on his loyal face. "Thank you, Ron, but I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, he hasn't been that terrible this year."

He gaped at me. "Bloody hell," he breathed, his blue eyes wide with disbelief. "Are you _defending_ him?!"

"Have you heard him insult anyone recently? I certainly haven't. I'm not saying that he's a good person," I quickly added at Ron's incredulous look. "But he's not evil, either. There wasn't evidence that he killed anyone during the War, and he _is_ making an effort to be civil, so you should try to stop insulting him so much."

"But he's a git!"

"Well, Cormac was a git, too, but you didn't run around after him, spewing curses," I huffed, wishing that Ron would stop being so petty. Fine, Malfoy and Ron had a rather sordid history, but he could at least _try _to be polite to the Slytherin.

"I don't run after the Ferret," he protested.

I sighed. "Whatever, Ron. It won't kill you to be civil, and since I'm going to be tutoring him, you'll just have to try to ignore him."

Ron gasped. "You're _tutoring Malfoy_? Have you gone mad?!"

"Wait, Hermione, you're helping the Ferret?" I heard Ginny ask.

Whoops. I probably could've timed that better.

"He needs help with Muggle studies," I snapped, annoyed. "It's not a big deal."

"But 'Mione, he's the _Ferret_! He's probably just trying to use you!" Ron frantically grabbed a large biscuit and chomped on it, his eyes boring into mine.

"Merlin, Ron, he's not using me. He's giving me flying lessons in return for my help with the class," I stated.

His jaw dropped. "WHAT?" he exclaimed, drawing curious looks from our housemates.

"Don't talk so loudly!" I hissed, waving for the other Gryffindors to carry on with their own conversations. Once they'd turned away, I said, "Look, Ron, he knows next to nothing about Muggles, and if I can get him to be more open-minded about blood, I would be helping our cause for equality! Don't you see? I _have_ to help him see the light, in the name of all of the fallen. If Malfoy changes his mind about blood, chances are, other purebloods will, too, and then we'll be on the path towards true equality."

Ron frowned. "I don't like it. What if he tries to hurt you?"

"Ron, you seem to have forgotten that I fought in the War. If he tries to physically harm me, I will hex him to oblivion, regardless of the consequences."

At this, Harry laughed and said, "If I were you, mate, I'd be more worried about Malfoy." Ron merely scowled and proceeded to ignore me for the rest of dinner. I just rolled my eyes and talked to Ginny and Harry instead, sure that Ron would eventually come around and accept what I was doing.

His questions brought some unease, though. What if Malfoy _did_ try to hurt me? I was fairly certain that I was a better duellist than he was, but if he caught me unawares...

_No, I can't think about that_, I decided_. I'll just have to be on my guard when I'm working with him._

* * *

**A/N: **So, this is my first multi-chaptered fic! I've got a few chapters written and I have a sort of general idea for where the story will go, so I'll probably update every 1-2 weeks. There'll probably be 10-15 chapters, max.

Anyway, thank you for reading, and let me know what you think about the story so far!


	3. Ch 2 - The First Meeting

**A/N**: I changed the rating because there's a tiny bit of language that might be objectionable to some people. Anyway, let me know what you think of it :)

* * *

It was Wednesday evening.

Dinner had just ended, and I was walking out of the Great Hall with Harry, Ron, and Ginny, my book bag slung over my shoulder.

"I'll see you guys back in the common room," I said once we reached the top of the marble staircase, and smiled in a hopefully reassuring manner.

"If Malfoy tries anything funny, 'Mione, you just let me know and I'll –"

"All right, Ron, that's enough," I interrupted with a laugh. "Thanks, but I'm sure I'll be fine."

He sighed resignedly, but gave me a small wave before walking away to join Harry and Ginny. I turned in the opposite direction and headed for the library on the fourth floor, glad that Ron was mature enough to grudgingly accept that I was going to tutor Malfoy.

It was silent in the hallways and the torches cast flickering shadows, the flashes of light and dark almost appearing to be spectral figures gliding through the air, waiting to grab some unsuspecting student. I shivered, instinctively taking a hold of my wand, and walked faster, slightly unnerved by the gloomy quietness. Finally, I reached the library and sped through the doors, grateful for the pleasant change in atmosphere.

The library technically closed at eight, but the hours were extended for the Eighth years to allow us to conduct research for classes and such. Thankfully, none of my other classmates were here, instead choosing to spend their evening in the combined Eighth year common room that was formerly a large abandoned classroom. In fact, all of the Eighth year dorms were repurposed old classrooms that, fortuitously, were located near each other in a wing on the Sixth Floor.

Weaving through the familiar aisles of the library, I mentally berated myself for not setting up a more specific meeting place with Malfoy and instead just hoped that he would be at the table that I was sitting at a few days ago. After passing a bookshelf containing books about Transfiguration, I spotted Malfoy and his distinctive, pale hair, looking quite bored. When I approached the table, he looked up, his face calm and composed.

"You're late," he noted with a slight raise of an eyebrow.

"I am _not_ late, thank you very much," I retorted. "We never set a specific time to meet, and since I got here after dinner, I am actually right on time." His lips quirked slightly at my vaguely annoyed tone, but he didn't reply. I huffed, then set my bag on the table and sat in the chair across from him, facing the window.

"So," I started, glancing at his black leather bag. "What are you learning in class right now?"

He sighed and opened his bag, then pulled out a book with _A History of Muggles _emblazoned across the maroon cover and pushed it towards me.

"We've just finished the third chapter," he muttered. I opened the book and glanced through the table of contents, seeing titles such as _The Neolithic Revolution,_ _The First Civilisations_, _Colonisation of the Americas,_ _Industrialisation, Modern Day Britain, _and _Culture and Arts. _It seemed that the course covered general world history with a sub-unit on British history, and modern Muggle culture.

"All right, then. What exactly do you need help with?"

I wasn't entirely sure what I was supposed to do, whether I should go through the book and quiz him on concepts or help him with any homework he might have, so I just went with a general query.

"The class is easy enough, mostly, but we have to do a project about Muggle culture and I'm not quite sure where to start with that. I read the _Culture_ section of the textbook, but it was too general."

"What's the project about?"

He fished a piece of parchment from his bag, then read it out loud. "'Choose a Muggle item or invention to research and write a four foot essay on its history, uses, and importance in modern culture. You will have one month to complete this assignment'."

"That's not that bad," I remarked, confused as to why Malfoy needed my help with the project.

"I also have to somehow procure the item and learn how to use it to demonstrate to the class."

"So, you want me to buy a Muggle item for you?"

He shrugged. "That would be easiest, and I would pay you back. I was also hoping that you could help me with the research, since you would probably already know about the uses and such of whatever item I end up researching."

I nodded. "All right, I can do that."

"Do you have any ideas of things I could research?"

I mulled over the question for a bit, trying to think of interesting Muggle inventions. "Well, cars are pretty important, since they allow people to travel around easily. Planes are interesting, too. Outside of transportation, I suppose you could look at computers or, oh, televisions are cool."

"Televisions?"

"Brits call them tellies. They show moving pictures. Erm, maybe you shouldn't do that, though, because it might be kind of difficult to get a television to Hogwarts…" I trailed off, trying to think of objects that could be carried by an owl. "Oh, I know! You can research cameras! Colin Creevey had a film camera, so they'll definitely work at Hogwarts." And then I stopped talking because I remembered that Colin, young, brave, Colin, was no longer with us, having died in the war, that nasty, terrible, war…

"What do cameras do?"

Malfoy's voice brought me back to reality and I mentally scolded myself for getting lost in thoughts of the War so easily, then answered, "They take pictures. The pictures don't move, though, unlike wizard ones. I can probably send for my parents' old Polaroid and show you how to take pictures with it. It's quite fun, and since it's an instant film camera, you'll see the pictures right away."

"That sounds fine. When do you think it'll arrive?"

"Probably in about a week. My parents should be back in London by now, so it shouldn't take too long."

He nodded, his blond hair, which was for once not plastered to his head with gel, falling slightly over his forehead. He had rather nice hair, I noticed, and it looked soft and –

Wait. Why was I thinking about Malfoy's hair? I shook my head slightly, deciding to attribute it to tiredness, then looked back at him, observing his face for any other changes. He looked a bit more mature, and his chin was less pointy than it was before, but other than that, he seemed to have not altered much since I last saw him.

"Should we look for books on cameras?"

I blinked a few times, then gathered my thoughts and replied, "There might not be many here, but we can try." So we got up and headed towards a section of the library with books on Muggle things, then grabbed a few that looked promising and returned to the table. Malfoy began reading, jotting down notes in surprisingly elegant handwriting that was full of long, sharp lines and graceful curves. He occasionally asked some questions about the mechanisms for taking photographs, but after almost half an hour had passed, I had really only answered a few questions and was getting a bit bored. Sighing, I leaned an arm against the table and asked, "So, Malfoy, what you think of the course so far?"

Since the main goal I had for this endeavour was to attempt to lessen blood prejudice's hold on his philosophy – well, that, and to maybe learn how to fly – I decided to try to figure out if he still held the same beliefs as he did before.

He looked at me thoughtfully, apparently unperturbed by the unexpected question, then set down his quill and replied, "Muggles are strange."

_How mature of you to say that, _I thought, mentally rolling my eyes.

"Especially the ancient ones," he continued, nonchalantly. "While they were running after buffalo and living in tepees, wizards were learning about magic and spells. It's quite obvious that we are the superior race."

I stared at him and his utterly expressionless face in disbelief. "Please tell me you're joking." This was honestly much worse than I had expected; he really hadn't changed at all, had he? And I was so hopeful that fighting through a War would have altered his opinions at least a smidge, but apparently I was wrong.

He smirked, then replied, "Of course I'm not joking, Granger. Muggles are so primitive compared to wizards, it's almost laughable. They aren't capable of accomplishing even half of what we can do."

Oh dear Merlin. Could this situation get any worse?

"Well, then you obviously haven't heard of electricity or cars or space travel," I retorted, suddenly furious at him and his bigotry. "How many wizards have set foot on the moon, may I ask? None. Muggles, however, have managed to send many people to outer space without being able to use magic."

He rolled his eyes. "This so-called 'outer space' doesn't seem to be very interesting, Granger. Besides, this is only further proof that Muggleborn wizards are…" he trailed off, looking warily at the vine wood wand resting near my hand. "Well, you're an exception, I suppose."

_Be calm, Hermione. Just keep it in and don't make this situation worse and – _

_No way._

_He is __**not **__going to get away with saying that._

"An exception?!" I seethed, glaring at him. "An exception to what, Malfoy? Are you implying that Muggleborn wizards are inferior to purebloods? Well, in case you didn't know, I was at the top of our entire class for the six years before the War. And your precious Voldemort died at the hands of a _half-blood_. In fact, you silly Death Eaters were following a half-blood, did you know?" At this comment, his silver-grey eyes darkened in anger, but I pushed forwards. "It was people like you and Voldemort and those stupid blood prejudices that caused the War! _You killed_ Fred and Tonks and Lupin and Dumble-"

"DON'T SAY HIS NAME!"

I blinked, shocked by the raw anger emanating from his voice.

"Don't say it," he whispered, his pale face looking years older, aged by the war and the fighting and the hate, the evil, evil hate.

We sat in silence for a while, his platinum hair glowing in the pale moonlight shining through the window.

Finally, after the silence grew heavier and more oppressive and almost unbearable, I said, quietly, "He knew you weren't evil." Malfoy didn't move or otherwise acknowledge my statement, so I continued. "I'm sorry for what I said. I was wrong; you didn't kill any of them. You were indirectly related to their deaths, but that's not the same thing."

He rolled his eyes, avoiding my gaze.

"Honestly, I don't like you very much, Malfoy, but I know, and others know, that you're not truly a bad person. You couldn't kill him. That in itself shows that you're not evil."

He let out a low, humourless chuckle that sent chills down my spine. "I wanted to kill him."

I raised an eyebrow at this, but kept quiet.

"I was supposed to kill him, to redeem my family in the eyes of the Lord. I had to kill him. _I had to kill him._" He took a long, slow, deep breath, then continued, softly. "But I couldn't. I was too weak. I was too much of a coward, too pathetic, too –"

"No, Malfoy, stop."

I sighed, wondering just how I got myself stuck in this situation.

"What you did was _not_ cowardly. I understand that you were trying to save your family. I don't get why you didn't just ask someone for help, and I _really_ don't get why you joined those bloody Death Eaters in the first place." I paused, then looked straight at him. "I'm not going to pretend that I understand your prejudice against Muggles, but I _know_ that you are not a bad person. A git and a bully, yes. But not evil."

He shook his head and said, dryly, "How utterly _compassionate_ you Gryffindors are."

"Compassion and love are what won us the war."

He scoffed. "Potter was just lucky that Lord –". He paused, a strange look on his face, then continued. "He was just lucky that Vol – Voldemort was insane."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised that he was able to say the name with minimal stuttering.

"All the same, Granger, I'm not upset that Voldemort lost. The bastard scared the shite out of me, and I'm not afraid to admit that. He did have some good ideas, though, when he wasn't being completely fucking mental."

I rolled my eyes, then remembered something and opened my bag and pulled something out.

"Here," I said, setting the book in front of him. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he stared at the well-worn novel in slight confusion.

"_To Kill a Mockingbird_?"

I was now very glad that I'd decided to bring that book with me to school, and even more glad that I hadn't taken it out of my bag, as it turns out that Malfoy actually hadn't changed much from the war, at least not in terms of beliefs. And, if there's anything that could be learned from the tale of Scout and Jem and Atticus, it was acceptance of others and the importance of equality.

I nodded. "It's a Muggle classic. You'll find it to be just as well-written, if not better, than any wizard novel. I personally vouch for that."

"Splendid," he replied, his voice dripping with hostile sarcasm.

"Just read it, ok?" I sighed, suddenly very tired by this ordeal.

"Why?" he asked, eyeing me warily.

"You still hold onto the prejudices that your parents taught you," I replied, matter-of-factly. "If you want to pass Muggle studies, you're going to have to learn to at least tolerate Muggles and Muggleborns."

"That doesn't mean I have to read some random Muggle book."

"Please read it?" I entreated, switching tactics. "It's one of my favourite novels," I added.

He looked at me uncertainly, then turned his gaze back to the cover of the novel.

"… Fine," he finally relented, then grabbed the book.

"Be careful with it," I snapped as he shoved it into his bag. "And don't you dare dog-ear the pages."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he muttered, getting up from his chair. After he hoisted his bag onto his shoulder he said, "I'll be at the Quidditch Pitch at two on Sunday."

"All right," I replied, but he had already stalked off.

Sighing, I got up to put the books on cameras away, and then gathered my things and slowly left the library to return to the dormitory, mulling over the conversation I'd had with Malfoy. His words had been both enlightening and puzzling. It seemed that he still believed in blood purity and despised Muggleborns and Muggles. However, he _did_ show some remorse for his involvement with the Death Eaters, and he hadn't used the term 'Mudblood', which hopefully meant that he could be eventually swayed from his out-dated, bigoted beliefs. Thus, I had tried to be understanding towards him and his actions, but it had been rather difficult to just sit and listen to him slander Muggles.

Reaching the portrait of a medieval knight named Percival, I said the password, "Lumos", then stepped through the doorway after the painting swung open.

"Hermione!" Ron stood up from his seat in front of the fire and looked at me, blue eyes wide with concern.

"Hey, Ron," I said, smiling slightly as I sat in an armchair next to his seat.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," I replied, then frowned as a thought occurred to me. "Ron, did you wait in here for me to return?"

"Yeah," he answered, grinning sheepishly. I shook my head, half-amused and half-annoyed.

"You didn't have to do that," I said, slightly reprovingly. "But thank you," I added at his wounded look.

"Did Malfoy do anything?" he asked after a moment's silence. "He didn't say anything when he came back earlier, just muttered something under his breath and stomped up the stairs."

"No," I mumbled, absently. "Nothing interesting happened."

Well, nothing other than that conversation with a few rather surprising remarks that left me at a loss over what to do when I saw him on Sunday.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Ronald, I am quite sure." I sighed heavily, then curled my legs up in the chair. We sat there for a while, the only sound being the faint crackle of the fire as flames danced on the grate.

"Ron," I said, suddenly, turning my head towards him. "Do you still think about the War?"

"Of course, 'Mione." He paused, seeming to be thinking something over, then continued. "I don't think I'll ever forget it, honestly."

I nodded slowly, suddenly feeling very, very old for my nineteen years. "Sometimes I still can't believe that we really won, and that Voldemort's dead, and that we're finally free to live our own lives for the first time since we were eleven."

"Blimey, Hermione, I'm just glad that we don't have to chase after Death Eaters and horcruxes anymore."

I laughed a bit, then sobered and replied, "It feels surreal, though, doesn't it? Knowing that so many people are dead?" I sighed. "Merlin, Ron, sometimes I wonder if the fighting was worth all of the destruction it caused."

"Of course it was worth it," he said, fiercely. "I know that Fred and Sirius and everyone would be glad to know that they died for the Light, and you should be proud of them, too. Merlin's beard, 'Mione, we beat bloody Voldemort. That's not something just anyone can say."

I smiled at him, the wizard who had been one of my best friends since I was a young witch entering the magical world for the first time, and said, "You know I love you, right?"

He chuckled lightly. "'Course I know. If you didn't, you wouldn't let me copy your Potions homework."

"_Ronald Weasley_!"

He grinned cheekily and dodged my attempt to swat him on the arm, then got up and said, "Well, I'm off to bed now. 'Night."

"Good night!"

I stayed sitting in the common room for a while longer, gazing at the crackling fire, wondering about my fallen comrades and how they were faring in the afterlife. I could imagine Tonks with a cheerful smile and colourful hair standing next to an amiable-looking Lupin, and Fred playing jokes on all of the other people in the void, perpetually grinning and laughing.

"I miss you," I whispered as the fire danced. A single tear slipped down my cheek and plopped onto my jumper, the salty liquid momentarily staining the fabric.

Later that night as I tried to sleep, my dreams were again haunted by unmoving bodies bathed in the light from the luminescent silver moon, and I fitfully tossed to the sound of a young man's voice screaming in agony, "I have to do this, I have to…"


	4. Ch 3 - A Fear of Falling

"I am _not_ flying on that."

It was an achingly beautiful day in early October with a vivid cobalt sky dotted with fluffy white clouds. The temperature was moderately warm, but a slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees in the Pitch, hinting at the coming autumn chill.

Seemingly unaffected by the splendour of the day, Malfoy was acting as git-like as usual and smirked, casually leaning on his Firebolt Supreme. "Scared of a little speed, Granger? I would've thought that years of running around with Potter would've cured that."

I crossed my arms. "That broom is _dangerous_. Don't you have another one for me to use?"

"Not with me, and it'd take at least a week to send for my Nimbus at home. You could, of course, use a school broom."

I wrinkled my nose at the thought of using of those clunky, obstinate, hard-to-control devices, then sighed, looking uncertainly at the long, slender broom coated with a shiny varnish. "I'd probably kill myself trying to fly that thing."

In all honesty, I'd probably kill myself trying to fly _any_ broom, let alone one that could go almost as fast as a plane, not that he needed to know that. Well, maybe he should be made aware of that fact since he's never seen me attempt to fly before and if he did try to make me use the Firebolt, he would definitely need to be ready to cast a Cushioning Charm at a moment's notice.

"As much as I'd like to see you and your bushy hair plummet to the ground," he drawled, "I'd rather not be charged with the death of a war hero. So, you'll actually be flying with me."

I stared at him. "You want me to fly on a broom with you?" I asked in disbelief. Wasn't he afraid of getting my Muggle 'germs' on his pristine Pureblood self?

He rolled his eyes. "Not particularly. I'm merely suggesting this because I only have one broom with me and I promised to teach you how to fly. Slytherins know the importance of keeping one's word in business deals."

Ignoring his classification of our arrangement as 'business deal', I gaped at the sleek racing broom in trepidation, vaguely recalling Harry and Ron gushing over how the new Firebolt could go from 0 to 300 miles per hour in less than 10 seconds.

"I haven't got all day, Granger, so you can either get on the broom or choose to remain completely incompetent at flying."

"Fine," I huffed, annoyed by his condescending tone. Flying is most definitely difficult, and I was not a little frightened by the prospect of being at least a hundred metres in the air, supported by only a piece of magical wood. "Just… try not to fly too high or too fast. Please."

He shook his head in exasperation or amusement, I couldn't really tell, then mounted the broom and motioned for me to sit behind him. I gingerly climbed on and wrapped my arms around his waist, barely noticing how firm his muscles were, and fervently prayed to not throw up, or worse, fall off and die.

The second I was seated on the broom, Malfoy pushed off of the ground and we were suddenly rising rapidly through the air and I shut my eyes, my head spinning and my heart thumping erratically as I frantically thought "please don't let me die, please don't let me die, please don't…".

After another minute, we didn't seem to be rising any higher, although I could feel air moving by us at an alarmingly fast rate which meant that Malfoy had disregarded my plea to fly slowly.

Git.

"All right, Granger," called Malfoy over the _whoosh_ of the wind as we sped through the air. "The first thing to know about flying is that you have to open your eyes."

_How the hell does he know that my eyes are closed?!_

"No thanks!" I shouted, shaking my head slightly, my heartbeat not quite stable. "I'm quite fine as is."

I could feel, rather than see, him roll his eyes as he snapped, "For the love of Salazar, stop being such a bloody chicken and open your damn eyes!"

"Hey, who are _you_ calling chicken?!" I exclaimed, offended. In spite of the fact that my breath was coming out in frenzied gasps and I was nearly shaking from the fear of being on the broom, I refused to be called a chicken by Malfoy of all people, so I slowly peeked one eye open, squeaked at the sight of the ground that was much too far away for comfort, then gulped and shakily said, "Malfoy, I want you to promise that you won't let me fall."

He sighed in exasperation and grumbled, "Whatever."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, then finally inched my eyelids open, holding tightly onto Malfoy who was surprisingly fine with my leech-like behaviour. I then blinked in amazement at the sight before me, all open, blue skies and glorious, rolling fields of grass with the occasional gently swaying tree.

"Bloody hell," I breathed, borrowing Ron's favourite phrase. "It's beautiful up here."

And then Malfoy, being the prat that he is, decided that it'd be a great time to do some sort of loop in the air, causing me to shriek in alarm as the world rotated until I was hanging bloody _upside down_ for a moment, then everything continued to turn until I was once again upright, my pulse hammering in my body as Malfoy let out a whoop of joy.

"What the hell was that for?!" I yelled once I had gotten my breath back. "I could have let go and _died_, you idiot!" If I wasn't currently a hundred metres in the air, I would have punched him like I did Third year… except with maybe a bit more force this time around.

All I got in response to my furious question was another long, drawn out whoop, full of adrenaline, as he leaned forwards and the broom flew even faster than it did before and I began to seriously fear for my safety as I watched the Hogwarts grounds pass by at breakneck speed.

"Didn't I tell you to not fly fast?" I shouted, both in awe of the view and the unsettling but surprisingly exhilarating feeling of weightlessness, and extremely peeved that he had completely ignore my earlier requests.

He laughed. "But what's the fun in going slow?"

I sighed. Malfoy may be a right tosser, but he was still a boy, and from my adventures with Harry and Ron, I knew that all teenage boys, whether they be smarmy buggers or loveable friends, are adrenaline addicts.

We made a pass over the Forbidden Forest and I marvelled at the sight of the enormous forest and how it extended so far in all directions that I couldn't see its outer edges, even from such a high vantage point. After a bit, we lazily turned around to head back towards the Pitch and Malfoy began to make some general notes on how to fly a broom properly.

"Flying's pretty simple," he stated in a rather supercilious manner. "You lean forwards to speed up and sit up to slow down, and lean to your left or right to turn." He demonstrated each movement, and I thanked Godric that I wasn't flying on this broom alone, as even those small manoeuvres seemed dangerous to me. "All you really need to remember, since I doubt you're going to play Quidditch, is to not lean too far in any direction and to not let go of the broom."

I snorted with laughter, then replied, "You really don't need to tell me to hold onto the broom, Malfoy. I'd be a fool to let go. A dead fool, at that," I added, frowning at the rather unpleasant thought.

"You know, for the smartest witch at Hogwarts, you really are rather insecure about your abilities."

"I am not!" I exclaimed, glaring hard at the back of his head. "I'm perfectly comfortable with intelligence, thank you very much. It's only flying that I'm not good at."

"If you say so."

After a few more minutes of gliding through the sky, I caught sight of the large, glinting golden hoops of the Pitch and he finally slowed down, angling towards the ground, then landed with a soft jolt. I stumbled off of the broom in a far less graceful manner than he did, and then walked a few steps, testing out my balance. My legs felt a bit wobbly and I was a tiny bit light-headed, but for the most part, I was fine, surprisingly enough.

When I turned back to Malfoy, I said, "I think that's enough for today."

He smirked. "Shall we head back, then?"

I was a bit surprised by his offer to walk back to school together, but shrugged off my hesitations and fell in step with him. We didn't say much until we reached the door and quietly entered the school, heading for the staircase that would take us directly to the sixth floor.

"I actually had fun today," I blurted, breaking the silence. "I mean, I was scared for my life for most of it, but…" I trailed off, noting that his expression hadn't changed much from his usual blank, vaguely smug look. "I guess brooms aren't that bad," I finished, somewhat lamely, in my opinion.

An awkward quietness then stretched between us until he said, dryly, "I would've thought that you, being a Gryffindor and all, wouldn't be scared of flying."

"I don't like heights," I admitted sheepishly. "I'm not sure why, but being up high makes me uncomfortable."

"It's the opposite for me, actually." He glanced quickly at me, his face a bit more relaxed than before, then returned his pale grey gaze to the hallway in front of us. "I love flying. It makes me feel invincible and liberated, if only for a few hours."

I nodded and replied, "I can understand that. Flying _is_ a nice experience, although I'm still not that comfortable with it. It doesn't feel very safe, honestly."

He didn't say anything for another minute, instead choosing to gaze at the far end of the hallway, and I wondered what he was thinking about.

Finally, he spoke. "I read that book you gave me."

I was surprised. "You already finished it?" It was impossible to convince either Harry or Ron to even start reading a book that I recommended, and Malfoy had already seemed disinclined to read my book, so it seemed odd to me that Malfoy had managed to finish the novel so quickly.

He nodded. "It was… interesting, I suppose. Did American Muggles really discriminate against coloured people?"

I thought for a second, then answered, "Well, not just Americans. A lot of Europeans enslaved African Americans a long time ago, but slavery has been outlawed for a while now." I waited in anticipation for what he would say next. I could tell that he was thinking about all of the pureblood wizards he knew that were of African or non-European heritage and that he was appalled by the idea of treating them as lower class citizens, but would he make the analogy between race prejudice and blood prejudice?

He shook his head in annoyance. "Muggles are barbaric," he suddenly stated in a slightly vicious manner. "What kind of bloody idiot gives a damn about the colour of one's skin? Filthy, sodding wankers," he hissed, glaring at the flameless torches ahead of us.

"Oh, and believing in blood purity doesn't make wizards cruel or ignorant?" I spat, unable to keep a hold of my temper. "They're discriminating based on something just as intrinsic and unchangeable as skin colour – the so-called 'pureness' of one's blood is determined solely by chance, as is ethnicity!"

He looked at me, his raised eyebrows and slightly open mouth betraying his shock from my vehement tone, then turned to face the hallway without saying anything.

Finally, he spoke. "I know why you gave me the book."

"Oh, really?" I asked, sardonically.

"You want me to think that skin colour and blood purity are equivalent, right?"

"Not exactly," I replied, shaking my head emphatically.

"Well, they're not."

I sighed. "They're not the same exact thing, but discrimination based on either race or blood will only end in pain, Malfoy. You probably haven't learned anything about Muggle history yet, but from World War II and, well, a lot of other wars, it's obvious that bigotry and hate just bring the destruction of what's good in this world."

Silence ensued.

We were finally nearing the portrait of Knight Percival when Malfoy abruptly stopped and looked me dead in the eye for the first time this year.

"I don't hate you, Granger."

I snorted, amused by his blunt statement. "Nor I, you," I replied lightly, wondering what had brought upon this declaration of his lack of outright animosity towards me.

He nodded slowly. "It's rather difficult to not dislike Muggles when I've spent over seventeen years doing so, and I still think you're a swotty bookworm."

_Why thank you, Ferret_, I thought, rolling my eyes. _I'm glad to know that you're still a git._

He wrinkled his nose in an expression of distaste. "Following Voldemort was, however, not the best course of action, and I can only wonder why Father let himself be sucked into that life."

I stared at him, slightly shocked by this revelation. _How unexpected_, I mused. _I wonder why he's admitting this now._

"I still don't really like Muggles," he continued, still gazing at me with fathomless grey eyes. "But the war was horrible." His voice cracked a little and he looked resolutely over the top of my head. "There was so much pain, Granger, so much fucking pain and death and I'll never forgive myself for… for…" he shook his head, apparently unable to continue, and my heart ached because I, too, felt that pain and found it hard to forgive the Death Eaters and Voldemort for killing my friends, and myself for not being able to do something to save them. If only...

"Hermione?" I blinked at the sound of a familiar voice, then peered to the left of Malfoy and saw Ginny and Harry standing in the hallway.

"Are you ok?" Harry asked, looking between Malfoy and me with concerned green eyes.

I blinked rapidly, trying to think of something acceptable to say. "We're just talking about… uh, telephones," I eventually replied, hoping that he wouldn't notice my fib.

Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow, but thankfully just shrugged and said, "All right, I guess we'll be off, then."

I waited until the two of them were far enough away before turning back to Malfoy.

"We should get back. I'm not quite finished with the Charms essay," he said, already walking towards the portrait. I followed him to the entrance, a tiny bit annoyed with Harry and Ginny for interrupting the first real conversation, other than the one that consisted mostly of yelling, that I'd had with Malfoy. When we were inside the Common Room I said, "I'll see you on Wednesday, then?"

He merely nodded in reply then headed towards the boys' rooms, presumably to do homework, while I decided to join some of the other Eighth years that were relaxing on the couches. Looking around as I made my way to the area in front of the fireplace, I took in the view of the Common Room and smiled at the sight of each House's colours found in various couches, rugs, and miscellaneous knickknacks. Apparently, our dorms were decorated to promote inter-house unity.

"Hey, Hermione," greeted Ron as I neared the group, and the others joined in, calling out a welcome.

"Hi, guys," I replied, settling into a vacant spot on a couch next to Parvati.

"Is Malfoy behaving himself?" asked Dean, leaning back into his armchair.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, he's been pretty decent so far, thanks for the concern."

"Are you sure that you don't want some backup, though?" pressed Seamus. "I'd love a chance to go after the Ferret."

I sighed in irritation. "Oh, come off it. He's honestly not that terrible, Seamus. Sure, I wouldn't consider him to be nice or anything, but he's not as much of a git as he was before."

"We're just concerned about you, is all," said Ron. "I mean, what if he's just pretending to be decent to gain your trust, and then when you're not expecting it, he'll attack you?"

"Do you really think that he'd attack me at Hogwarts?" I asked in disbelief. "In my opinion, it's highly doubtful. Besides, as I told you before, I'm not defenceless! I'm quite handy with spells, thank you very much."

"I don't think Ron's doubting your ability to take care of yourself," Parvati said in a sympathetic tone. "Malfoy isn't very trustworthy, though, and no one wants anyone to get hurt, not when the War ended just a few months ago."

"Malfoy's not dangerous," I replied, evenly. "He didn't kill anyone, he only seriously tried to harm someone when Voldemort was threatening him to, and… well, I don't think he'll try to hurt me, anyway."

Ron sighed deeply. "Please just be careful, 'Mione. I don't think I could stand it if you were sent to the Hospital Wing."

_Oh, Ron_, I thought. _I love you, but sometimes you are really overprotective._

"I'll be fine," I said, smiling at him.

He nodded silently, though I could tell that he was still unconvinced, and then turned to Seamus and began talking about the Chudley Cannons' chances of finally winning a match this season, which I imagined were rather low. I began chatting with Parvati about this year's classes and how Runes was much more interesting this year than in previous semesters, and how Flitwick was still as short and squeaky as ever, until it was time for dinner.

The rest of the day went by uneventfully and that night, my dreams consisted only of the peaceful feeling of soaring through cloudless blue skies that stretched on endlessly into an infinite, unbounded ether.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this is a bit late! Let me know what you think of it!**


	5. Ch 4 - Polaroids and Magical Things

The hallways were dark and a chill pervaded the air as I hurried towards, and then into, the library, careful to not knock my bag against any hard surfaces. Nearing my destination, I stopped just out of sight of the meeting table and attempted to straighten out my clothing and hair, then gave up and proceeded towards that night's encounter with the Slytherin.

"I'm sorry I'm late," I said, still panting slightly as I placed my bag on the table in the library.

"It's fine." Malfoy looked calm, as usual, his eyes a pale but clear grey, his mouth relaxed, his forehead smooth and free of furrows. I, on the other hand, had forgotten the camera that had arrived the day before in my room and had to rush back to the dorms after dinner to retrieve the items, and then all but sprinted down several flights of stairs to get to the library at a reasonably late time. Thus, my hair was almost certainly a veritable bird's nest of brown curls and my clothes were slightly dishevelled, but it didn't really matter since Malfoy probably didn't care how I looked, anyway.

I sat down and took out the camera, a vintage grey and black, Polaroid, and set it in the centre of the table.

"That's a camera?" Malfoy asked curiously, peering at the device with noticeable interest.

I nodded, and then picked it up, aimed the lens at him, and pressed a button, snapping a photo of him with a sharp _click_. The picture slid out of the front and I showed it to Malfoy, whose image had a slightly bewildered expression on its alabaster face.

"It's not moving," he murmured, examining the snapshot warily. "How strange."

"Muggles would find moving pictures to be strange, as well," I said quietly, placing the photo on the table. I then looked up and found him gazing at me in an odd manner, a slight crease forming in the space between his light blond eyebrows.

"So," I said abruptly, looking away from his suddenly intense, silver eyes. "What do you want to do with the camera?"

After a slight pause, during which I didn't dare to look back at him, he replied, "I'd like to figure out the exact mechanisms it uses to take pictures, and then maybe get a few more photos to show during my presentation."

"All right. Unfortunately," I started with a slightly annoyed sigh, "I don't know very much about cameras other than the basics, but I don't think we finished going through those books last time, so we could look through those again. As for the photos, you can have the camera, if you'd like, and take some pictures in your free time."

He nodded. "I think that would work. I'll return the camera to you in a few weeks, once the project is completed."

"You can keep it, honestly. I have a digital camera at home, and my parents wouldn't mind it if I gave this one to you."

He didn't immediately reply, and I bit my lip and began to wonder if it was strange to offer the camera to him since our relationship was still on rather uncertain terms. Finally, he simply said, "We'll see," and got up and headed towards the bookshelf we went to a week ago. After a few minutes, he returned with an armful of books and set them down on the table, then sat in his seat across from me, his silhouette blocking out the gleaming shine of the thin crescent moon from the windows behind him, and began to read. I pursed my lips, then grabbed the next book in the pile and idly flipped through the pages, not wanting to just sit and watch him read for an hour.

I had just reached a section on digital cameras when he suddenly asked, "What was it like, growing up as a Muggle?"

I blinked, surprised by the abruptness of his question, then thought for a moment. "I enjoyed it," I finally replied. "I read lots of books and went to school and watched shows on the telly." I shrugged, not knowing quite what else to tell him. "I had a pretty normal childhood, at least until my Hogwarts letter arrived."

"What did your parents think of the letter?"

"They were surprised, obviously." I tilted my head, searching through my memories for that fateful day in mid-summer. "I remember that they were really excited and kept saying that they were proud of me. We had loads of fun travelling around Diagon Alley the first time. My mum must've seemed batty to some of the shopkeepers there," I concluded with a laugh.

He didn't reply, although he looked vaguely amused, so I decided to ask him a few questions of my own.

"What was growing up like for you?"

He looked at me sharply, then sighed and leaned back against his seat. "I was a spoiled child," he finally stated matter-of-factly. "I got whatever I wanted, so long as I followed the orders of my parents. I thought my father was a god or something, and he could do no wrong in my eyes, not even when he punished me for disobeying him. Mother was a bit more aloof and didn't often show emotion, but I could tell that she loved Father and that, by extension, she loved me, just in a chilly sort of manner."

"That's sad," I said, then immediately wished I hadn't.

He looked at me, his gaze cautiously curious. "What is?"

I hesitated, trying to decide how best to word my thoughts so that they wouldn't offend him too much.

"Just… living with such cold people," I finally replied, examining his face for any signs of anger. While I didn't like either of his parents, I didn't want to insult them and get into another row, in the library of all places.

"Well," he started tersely. "It's not any worse than living in a world without magic."

I shook my head vehemently, my hair flying in all directions. "I think that living without love is worse than living without magic. Love is merely another form of magic, just one without wandwork and muttering."

He scoffed. "What a Gryffindor thing to say, Granger."

"It's true," I said, looking at him imploringly. "Love, Malfoy, is one of the most pristine and powerful things in this world. A mother's love, for instance, can protect a baby from the wrath of an evil maniac."

"That was just luck," he said, rolling his eyes.

"It was not," I argued, annoyed with his cynical and inaccurate perception of the world. "Love can overcome anything. It's the only thing that can destroy hate, the only thing that gave Harry the ability to defeat Voldemort. If love didn't exist, if it wasn't as powerful as it is, you and I would not be sitting here, having this conversation. For Godric's sake, Malfoy, you and I might not even be alive if not for Lilly Potter's last action as a mother."

He sighed heavily and slumped into his chair. "You're more idealistic than I thought you were."

I scoffed. "And you're more of a pessimist than I thought you were," I retorted.

"How can you be so sure that everything you support is right, Granger?" he shot back. "It could be that Voldemort was actually correct in his thinking, you know."

I blinked. "Are you saying that you think that a _murderer_, an evil,_ maniacal_, killer, should be ruling the world?" I asked in utter disbelief. "You must be barmy."

"Not all of us were like him," Malfoy snapped angrily. "_He_ was insane, consumed by bitterness and anger from his childhood. But some Death Eaters only joined him for the power and the blood purity agenda, and didn't agree with all of the killing. All right, there weren't many who thought like that," he conceded at my sceptical expression. "But I, at least, didn't enjoy murdering people."

"But you still…?" I trailed off, looking at his downcast face and uncertain expression, already knowing what his answer would be.

_So you did kill people_, I thought, with a slight pang of disappointment.

"Why would you do that?" I asked, a note of distress in my voice.

"You wouldn't understand," he said in a voice made of flint and steel and all manner of sharp, flat, materials. "I had to," he continued. "It was me or them, and I sure as hell did not want to die."

"You killed people," I stated, looking intensely at the boy – no, man, I suppose – in front of me.

"And you didn't? It was a _war_, Granger."

I shook my head adamantly. "I only stunned or petrified. I couldn't bear to kill anyone. I still can't, honestly."

He laughed a cold, mirthless laugh and said in a hollow voice, "Such naïveté."

"I've seen horrible things, too, Malfoy," I said quietly. "I've seen death and pain and blood, and I've heard screams that would send chills down your spine, the screams of the dying and the wounded. Do you know how bloody hard it is, sometimes, to look around and notice all of the life-sized gaps in the world?" I paused to regain my breath, and wondered why on earth I chose to tell Malfoy, of all people, about these thoughts of mine, then concluded that it was because I saw that he had that same haunted look about him at times, a sort of ghostly pallor that no one besides the two of us seemed to be suffering from. Yes, Ron and Harry and everyone else were still reeling from the deaths of our comrades, but recently, they seemed as if they were more able to move on with life than before. They were more convinced of the finality of the victory, while I sometimes wondered if I was merely carrying out an alternate existence, and that my former self was actually long dead, killed by some mask-wearing murderer, dumped unceremoniously into a dirt grave. I still thought about those bleak days, huddling around a frail fire for warmth, praying that the Snatchers or Death Eaters wouldn't find us. I still remembered Bellatrix's knife cutting those hateful words into my skin and the numbing agony of the _Crucio_. I still remembered my shock as I noticed the bodies that lay unmoving on the floor of the Great Hall after Voldemort fell, and how I cried over the injustice of the severed lives of the fallen. Why did they have to die for the world to be at peace?

I didn't particularly like these thoughts running amuck through my brain, or the strong, slow-burning flame of hatred I held for that sneering monster, but I couldn't help but blame him and his cackling followers for everything that had happened to me and those I held dear to my heart. If only, if only, if only…

Neither of us said anything for several minutes; we just sat and stared and felt and remembered. And then Malfoy robotically picked up his quill and turned his mercury gaze to his book, and the only sound that could be heard for the next quarter of an hour was the scratching of his quill on the parchment.

I watched him as he took notes, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his eyes flickered over the pages of the book. I wondered about this strange, mysterious, pale-haired wizard and his fathomless grey eyes and biting, yet hollow words. He was an enigma, a puzzle that I had not yet figured out, and I had but a nebulous concept of his true self.

_We're both so broken,_ I mused to myself. _So fragmented by the horrors we endured, and so unable to let go of the past and our choices._

I wanted to reach out to him, to take a hold of his soul and learn about him and his fears and goals. He was fascinating, strangely enough, but very closed off and remote, his eyes impenetrable steel structures that kept his secrets in and my queries out.

Finally, after the quiet became unbearable, I decided to say something, anything, to relieve the discomfort. What exactly, I had no idea, but all I knew was that I did not want to sit in such a tense atmosphere.

"Malfoy?"

He jerked his head up at my sudden voice, and then asked, cautiously, "Yes?"

I opened my mouth and blurted, "We should take some pictures," and then promptly felt like knocking my head against the table.

_Really, Hermione?_ I asked myself in slight despair. _Out of all the things you could have said, you randomly asked him to take pictures with you?!_

He stared at me quizzically with his mouth half-open and his eyebrow raised. "Does this mean that you won't give me the camera?"

I sighed, then wracked my brain for an explanation for my odd remark.

"No, you can still have it. I just thought that, uh… it might be best for me to show you how it works before you go off on your own."

_Nice save,_ my inner self smirked.

_Sod off_, I fired back, then felt like an idiot for arguing with myself.

He looked at me a while longer, then shrugged, a bemused expression on his face. "Sure," he replied. "I think I've got enough notes, now, anyway."

"Erm, all right then. I guess we should put the books back, first." I looked down at the pile that he had amassed, then quickly grabbed a few of the tomes and sped off, shaking my head over my lack of social graces. He followed me at a more leisurely pace, and once we had returned all of the books, I picked up the camera.

"Cameras are really pretty simple. Basically, you look through this little frame here, aim at whatever you want to take a picture of, and then press this button. The only other thing you need to know is that to replace the film, you pop open this compartment and put in a new roll of film."

"And the pictures come out the front?"

I nodded, then handed the camera to him. "Here, you try."

He carefully took the camera out of my hands, looked closely at the buttons, then aimed the lens at me.

_Click._

The photo slid out, and Malfoy pulled it from the slot and scrutinized it before smirking slightly.

"Your hair's still as bushy as it was first year," he stated, apparently very amused by his observation.

I rolled my eyes and snatched the picture from him, looked at it, and winced. My hair was, indeed, very bushy, probably from all of my running around.

"Oh, give me that camera," I snapped, a bit embarrassed, then proceeded towards the window. The moon was beaming down through the inky black of the night and slightly illuminated the darkness of the Hogwarts grounds.

"I've always felt at home at night."

I looked to my left at Malfoy who had joined me in the bright flood of moonlight at the window.

"I've always liked daytime better," I said. "The moon, though, is quite beautiful."

"I find it sad that the moon gets all of its light from the sun," he replied, his pale skin glowing in the silver light.

"Perhaps," I mused, leaning against the windowsill. "But it turns the sunlight into another form of brilliance, one that's equally radiant, so it's not really that sad at all."

"I suppose that's one way to think about it."

We lapsed into a surprisingly amiable silence, bathing in the cool light of the moon, and I wondered why I felt so comfortable with him when I knew that he was both a murderer and a bigot. Was it because I was perpetually optimistic about people? Or was it because I felt that he was intrinsically good, that he was forced into killing and cursing by unfortunate circumstances, and that the real Draco Malfoy, whoever he may be under that harsh veneer of spite and prejudice, was rather nice to be around?

I looked over at him again, tracing the outline of his face in the glowing moonlight, then stealthily lifted the camera and snapped a shot of him gazing into the distance, his face at peace.

_Click_.

"Did you just take a picture of me, Granger?"

I laughed softly and smiled. "Yes, I did."

And then he smiled back in a quiet and warm manner with his lips curving ever so slightly and his eyes the colour of light mist on a rainy day, and something fundamental between us changed.

Not too long after that moment, we gathered our things and headed back to the dorm, neither of us saying anything.

Nothing needed to be said.

We quietly stepped through the portrait hole and into the empty Common Room, exchanging an amused grin at Percival's grumpy response to the password, then headed up the stairs that led to the dorms. At the top of the stairs, we stopped, both of us reluctant to end the night, to forget the feeling of harmony and understanding that had briefly touched us by the window.

Finally, he murmured, "Good night, Granger," then turned and went into the boys' dorm, and I headed towards the girls' dorm on the other side of the stairs, feeling a peculiar sense of loss at the sudden lack of his presence.

I waved at my roommates who were still awake and placed my bag by my trunk, then headed towards the bathroom to take a quick shower. Just before getting into bed, I noticed a white paper lying on the ground near my bag, and when I picked it up, I saw that it was the picture of Malfoy that I had taken earlier by the window. As I looked at the image, I could feel something stirring inside of me, something hopeful and fluttery and light, and I knew, yes, I _knew_, that that night had shifted the world a tiny bit, and that something magical, as cliché as that sounds, had occurred while we stood under the gaze of the glowing silver moon.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm sorry this chapter is so late! I've been crazy busy with school, and will be for the next month, so updates will be a bit slow until after the second week of May. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, though! :)


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